A King is Not a Pawn
by Puppy with Sharp Teeth
Summary: During his many moments alone, 2D wonders what he's doing on Plastic Beach and what the hell is going on in Murdoc's head. In the meantime, Murdoc is trying very hard to obey a self-imposed rule he swore never to break.
1. Chapter 1

**A King is Not a Pawn – Chapter 1**

**Title:** A King is Not a Pawn

**Chapter:** Chapter 1

**Pairing:** Murdoc/2D

**Genre:** Romance/Angst

**Rating:** R - NC-17

**Summary:** During his many moments alone, 2D wonders what he's doing on Plastic Beach and what the hell is going on in Murdoc's head. Murdoc meanwhile is trying very hard to obey a self-imposed rule he swore never to break.

**A/N:** Tried to add as much of the Gorillaz canon up to now as I could feasibly manage, but some things have been left out to save me the massive frustration of first waiting for the truth behind Murdoc to be revealed. (Not that I'm not bloody excited to find out, mind you. Is he some sort of Immortal? Is it reincarnation? What is his business with the Evangelist? Oooh, I want to know!)

Also, I'm going to pretend the ten blue-haired children thing was a joke, for the sake of my sanity.

**-overload-overload-coming-up-to-the-overload-**

When one is left alone for long periods of time with not much to do to stay entertained, thinking tends to be the only option. 2D had never been very good at that sort of thing, but it wasn't as if he had much choice in the matter. Kidnappers were rarely the sort of people who cared if you were entertained or not. Murdoc was no exception, even if he had been fairly generous with his DVD collection. His pills used to pull a nice fuzzy blanket over his mind and discourage him from partaking in navel-gazing, but they were in short supply on the desolate island.

And so he sat for hours and thought. Often, his thoughts would inevitably drift towards his bastard of a captor. He was starting to wander why he had ever had such a rose-tinted view of the evil green git.

When he had first woken up from his year-long coma all those years ago, Murdoc Niccals had been the first person he saw with the new dark void-eyes. The man had grinned at him wide-eyed, like a lunatic seeing heaven and all its wonders. The Satanist had been expecting unrivalled retribution the second the vegetable known as Stuart Pot was thrown violently from his seat. Instead, he was treated to a front row seat to the birth of a blue-haired, beautiful zombie-god with black holes for eyes.

As soon as Stuart collapsed from the effort of simply getting up and standing after a year of being mostly stationary, Murdoc had scooped him up and headed for the former site of Uncle Norm's Keyboard Emporium.

Rather than request a visit to the hospital, Stu had been rather flattered that this man (who had apparently been taking care of him for a year while he was in his fragile state) so eagerly wanted to see his keyboard talents first-hand. He could barely move his atrophied fingers, but the notes that he drew from the instrument had visibly pleased the man and it made Stu smile warmly. His last thought before exhaustion claimed him again was how nice it was to have someone finally appreciate him.

For a few weeks, Murdoc had greatly appreciated him.

He appreciated the moment Stu woke up in hospital in front of his parents; he had that groggy smile on his face and said "Oh, hello Mr. Niccals. Thanks so much for taking care of me," and proceeded to convince his parents to drop the charges.

He appreciated it a great deal when the boy had immediately agreed to become his keyboard player, and even more when it turned out he had a gift for singing too.

But what he appreciated most about Stu was how easy he was to manipulate, with his foggy mind and apathy towards the bass player's power over him.

2D shook his head as he thought of how naïve he used to be when it came to Murdoc Niccals. He had worshipped the very ground the bastard walked on and received nothing in return. Well, maybe not nothing. Murdoc had tolerated him in those pre-Kong days enough to let him sleep in his apartment and shared his alcohol quite freely. He even gave the boy a shiny new name.

But oh, the violence and control issues never ran thin with the Satanist. Oh no, he was never more than an hour away from a good kicking or a backhand to the head. In all the years he had known Murdoc, the man was always the one trying to be in control of every situation, sometimes to the point of obsession. No one could deny he had lots of practice with it.

All of it leading up to the point when he had his singer kidnapped. And now what? The album was finished. The tour was over. The Fall, a little project Murdoc had let him work on to keep him busy, was complete. And yet, the Satanist still kept him locked up in the horrible underwater prison of a room with his greatest nightmare staring in at him whenever Murdoc felt the need to open the curtains and remind 2D of their relationship hierarchy.

Stuart lay back in his bed and stared at the labyrinth of pipes above his head. He knew that somewhere above his head, there was cruel imitation of his favourite guitarist sapping power from some or other outlet. In a cupboard.

She – that horrible un-Noodle thing – freaked him out almost as much as the whale sometimes. She was a proud resident of The Uncanny Valley.

The violence was a big part of it. Robo-Noodle was aggressive in ways that the true Noodle might once have been capable of before Gorillaz became her life, but with a cold machine cruelty and a programmed love of spent shell casings.

To add to the horror, there was the way she never completely got the hang of language; apart from the usual commands for firepower and rum and the occasional forcible fetching of 2D, she didn't really understand what most words meant. Murdoc was too lazy to bother teaching her anything complex. She was just a half-assed attempt at replacing sweet little Noodle.

Well, Noodle (if she was still alive) wasn't really all that little, now that he thought about it. She had been a part of Gorillaz for many years already. She should be…

He carefully counted and re-counted the years, and gasped in shock.

Twenty.

His mind was boggled; he felt older than he'd ever felt before. She was like a little sister who he saw every few years and occasionally got to watch grow up. Or like an adopted daughter who just happened to be more independent, experienced and dangerously intelligent than most orphans. And now (again, if she was alive) she was a proper grown-up. The idea of a grown-up Noodle left him completely dumbfounded.

2D pressed a hand to his skull; the nostalgia was making more than just his heart hurt, and migraines were frequent enough already. Especially since the kidnapping. If only the bastard had bothered to grab a few more of the pain-meds he kept in every room of his apartment, he would be fine and dandy and too stoned to think about the abomination outside the porthole. But no, the shitfaced dickhead hadn't left him with a single spare capsule. He never cared about people's pain, least of all 2D's pain. In fact, he seemed to relish it. Murdoc probably sold all his meds for spare change.

He cringed as the throbbing worsened. He was living without the sole thing that made daily life manageable, and it meant the pain was so much worse. It was like having an earthquake going on in his skull while fire-ants declared war on his brain.

Often, 2D was tempted to provoke Murdoc into chloroforming him to sleep, even if it meant having to deal with horrible nausea the next day. Unfortunately, with the exception of meals, the man only let him out every few days. And it was only so he had someone to rant at and throw around and (when he extremely lucky) drink with. He quite liked it when they drank together, actually. They were some of the few times Murdoc Niccals was surprisingly civil towards his singer.

They would laugh like they used to. Kong was reminisced about. Memories of Russel's cooking, Noodle's tiny Mohawk, the ever-present zombies and the video game sessions led to an increase in their alcohol intake. And groupies, always the groupies. They couldn't help it, really; as much as they indulged during the tour, the fact that they were back on an island in the middle of the nowhere meant that the topic of women would always inevitably enter the conversation.

It was during one of these rather pathetic moments drinking together that Murdoc had leaned in a little too close and asked him if he wanted to borrow some movies to keep himself occupied. 2D hadn't understood why Murdoc changed the subject from women to watching movies, but he had shrugged and said "Sure, I could do with laugh," and got an odd look from the bassist in return.

When he eventually got around to popping "Titty Titty Bang Bang" into his DVD player, he finally understood what kept the Satanist from snapping after all those months on the island: Fairly decent pornography.

2D glanced over at the stack of borrowed DVDs in a corner of his dingy room. On the cover of the top-most case, a curvy blonde squeezed her full breasts and winked at him, all cheap pink lipstick and pigtails. Nice, but not in comparison to the real thing. He sighed; he used to get the real thing all the time.

He hadn't seen a living, breathing woman since Murdoc barged into his hotel room on the last day of the tour. The singer was enjoying the company of a rather generous fan, when he was yanked out of bed, handcuffed, and marched back to the submarine. He cried for hour that day.

He got up slowly, trying not to further aggravate his headache, and carefully swung his legs off the bed. Blinking sluggishly at the door, he wondered for the umpteenth time if he should try to pry it open. Sometimes he got lucky and Murdoc would close the door but forget to lock the hatch. On those rare and wonderful occasions, 2D would slip up to the kitchen and fix himself a quick sandwich, numb his head with some booze from Murdoc's rum-crate, and wander around the island a bit. And he did so as quietly as possible.

He leaned against the door carefully. Quickly he scanned the room, licking his lips. 2D still wasn't' sure if there were any cameras in his room, but he wouldn't put it past Murdoc. He could only hope that if there were any, no one was watching at that particular moment. 2D shoved against the metal door with his bodyweight, and mentally cheered when he saw it budge. The door swung open and he was greeted by the sight of an empty corridor. Good. No Murdoc, no cyborg.

He wandered towards the elevator and hit the button for the study. If he was lucky, he could quickly sneak out a whole bottle of rum and a bowl of instant noodles and be back down before anyone saw him. It didn't seem likely, but he would take what he could get. There were days when Murdoc forgot about things like food, either because the man was pre-occupied with something he never spoke of, or in a rum-induced coma.

As soon as he stepped out of the lift, he headed for the booze-globe and instantly knew it had been a bad idea.

A green figure was lounging on the couch, obviously smashed and irrefutably Murdoc. It took him a moment to notice 2D, but when he did he let it be known.

"Oi, Faceache! What the fuck are you doing here?"

**-overload-overload-coming-up-to-the-overload-**

(It is likely that future chapters will be much longer. Hope you are enjoying it so far. Please comment!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** A King is Not a Pawn

**Chapter:** Chapter 2

**Pairing:** Murdoc/2D

**Genre:** Romance/Angst

**Rating: **R - NC-17

**Summary:** During his many moments alone, 2D wonders what he's doing on Plastic Beach and what the hell is going on in Murdoc's head. Murdoc meanwhile is trying very hard to obey a self-imposed rule he swore never to break.

**A/N: **Based on what I have seen from seen from the new source material, I might be weaving some of the new info into the narrative at a later date. Gods, I love being in this fandom.

Would also like to note, trying to make 2D sound like himself while still trying to make everything legible and un-jarring is bloody hard. That is all.

**-overload-overload-coming-up-to-the-overload-**

2D cringed when his eyes met those of his band leader. Damn. He would have to do without food and booze that day; he would most likely be spending the rest of it unconscious. He looked away when the stare he was receiving started to make him uncomfortable, and his gaze landed on the screen in front of Murdoc. His own image flashed across the screen in silhouette, mouthing the words to a ghostly tune. It was footage from the Clint Eastwood video. Evidently the bass player was getting nostalgic again. There was a half-empty bottle of rum being cradled in his lap, and three more soldiers at his feet. _Definitely_ nostalgia.

"I asked you a question, dullard!" the man growled. "Why are you up here? Do you want me to open the curtains again so Mr. Whale can say hello?"

2D shivered unpleasantly and shook his head. "Look," he said with a sigh, "can I just come up for a few sodding minutes? I'm hungry, Muds. And me head is killing me."

Murdoc eyed the younger man suspiciously, and took a deep swig from his bottle. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Might as well have company. Misery just _adores_ Company."

The singer blinked in surprise. Wow, it actually worked.

2D nodded (an imitation of gratitude) and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. He emerged a few minutes later with a plate. He had somehow managed to scrape together two toasted cheese and egg sandwiches. He sat down opposite the Satanist and took a bite out of a sandwich hungrily, watching the screen in front of them. "So, whatcha doing?"

Murdoc grunted and kept watching the screen. 2D chewed on his sandwich patiently. He didn't mind too much if the man didn't answer him, but was sure he'd eventually find out why he was getting shitfaced at four in the morning. Or not; it wasn't a terribly unusual thing for Murdoc to do.

As he expected, the Satanist finished another bottle, dropped it, and sighed loudly. "Has it really been over a decade since we started this band?" he said miserably.

The singer blinked a few times and carried on eating his toasted sandwich. He hadn't really thought about it, but that sounded sort of accurate. "Yeah, yeah it has," he said through a mouth of food.

The Satanist looked down at his plate, sharp tongue peeking through his lips. 2D followed his gaze and decided he could probably sacrifice one sandwich as a peace offering. He held the uneaten one out for Murdoc, who eyed it carefully before taking it. "Thanks. Been a while since I've seen anything decent come out of that place," he said, scowling at the kitchen. The man had never been any good at cooking. He tried to fry raw spaghetti once.

"Doesn't that Tattoo bloke do your meals?" said 2D. Murdoc scowled and shook his head. "Terrible at cooking anything that isn't soup. His mash looks like grey sludge and smells like old cat food. I'd rather take my chances with Superfast Jellyfish than that tripe. Barred him from the kitchen."

The bassist bit hungrily into the sandwich. Two more bites, and the whole thing had vanished. He licked his lips in satisfaction. "Much obliged faceache. Tell you what, go make me another one of those, and you can have a whole damn bottle of my rum to yourself."

Liking the idea of something he didn't have to share with Murdoc Niccals for once, the singer got up and retreated back to the kitchen. Five minutes later, a sandwich was presented, and a full bottle of cheap rum was traded for it. 2D grinned and took a healthy swig. "Cheers Muds."

Murdoc fished out a new bottle for himself from a nearby crate and sat back down with a groan. They sat in silence for quite some time before either felt the need to say anything. 2D watched as a new video started up. Manic laughter filled the room as the familiar tower of hedonism appeared on screen. His image stumbled across a room filled with sated bodies and lustful hands. The bass-player who would eventually drag him off to this island against his will rose up from the ground half-naked and played a licentious tune, pleasing his worshippers.

2D looked away from the screen and glance over to see Murdoc wince at the adoration his past-self was being shown. The singer shook his head. How stupid could he be? Surely he must have realised that building a fortress that was the furthest point on Earth from any continent would mean he had zero chance of getting any action for the foreseeable future?

He was roused from his ponderings by the sound of Murdoc yanking down hard on the screen and letting it shoot back up. The bassist swore loudly and gulped down a little more rum. "Sweet Satan, a couple of birds would be lovely right now…not a single chubby Goth girl as far as the eye can see!" he lamented.

The singer felt the Ghost of Sympathy pass briefly through him before disappearing and being replaced by the Spirit of Schadenfreude. He kept his face as neutral as ever, but inside he was laughing his arse off. The bastard had it coming.

He watched as Murdoc sank back down into the couch and took another swig. Did he even have a liver anymore? Deciding he didn't care either way, he drank deeply from his own bottle. The bass-player peered over at him, appearing to be lost in thought.

Murdoc watched the other man nervously, doing so in the most subtle way he was capable of. His mind, which was usually content to switch to a lower gear when fed alcohol, buzzed like an angry hive. He wasn't pleased; neither his senses nor his emotions were completely under his control, and it meant that literally anything could happen. In all likeliness, it would just result in his singer receiving a couple new bruises. It was his default solution to any sort of internal grievance. But there was always the chance that he could just snap and take-

No. Definitely not. Uh-uh.

He shook his head vigorously in the hopes that that would clear it. No such luck. He swallowed a few more ponies of rum. No, that didn't help either; just made the buzzing worse.

Murdoc opted instead to try conversation.

"So, uh…2D…" he fished for some topic that wouldn't result in a ten-second dialogue. 2D looked at him curiously. "Yeah? What?"

"The reviews for that little project of yours are pretty good. Well, NME liked it. Uh…tell me, how did you make it again?" he said, hating that he asked a question he didn't care enough about to want to hear the answer to.

"iPad. Told you, just sat in the dressing rooms on tour, playing with apps and that." He didn't know why Murdoc felt the need to ask about things he already knew, but whatever. As long as it kept him upstairs away from the whale with something to soothe his aching skull, he didn't mind too much.

"Right, right. Apps and all that…" Murdoc scrambled for something more interesting to talk about. He chugged half his remaining rum. "Hmm…how…hang on, getting a little warm, haha…"

A jumper was removed and thrown in a corner as Murdoc shuffled a little closer and got comfortable again. "Right…are you enjoying the DVDs?"

2D was caught off guard. "Er…yeah…they're nice. Cake Fear is a bit weird, but I liked most of 'em. The Iceman Cometh Again was _really_ watchable," he grinned widely.

Murdoc nodded emphatically and eyed the singer again. There was a slight sparkle in the man's dark eyes, which made them glow in a faint red. It was the main reason the singer had taken to wearing sunglasses to photoshoots during their early years. Blood-filled eyes were occasionally prone to freaking out the photographers. Murdoc never understood that, personally; he thought they were rather nifty, even if it did mean the blue-haired twat looked like a Hatchetfish. The Satanist looked down at his bottle. Definitely time for more rum.

After raiding the rum crate a few more times and chatting about reggae, pirates and horrible TV shows for an hour, 2D came to the realization that Murdoc had slowly edged closer to the point where they were shoulder to shoulder. The singer raised an eyebrow when Murdoc proceeded to shorten the distance between them even more by throwing an arm lazily around him.

"…so as it turned out, she wasn't even actually a real bearded lady! In a fog of tequila and novocaine I'd been chatting up Russell Brand all evening! Never trust tequila, mate. Still…it was a good bit o' handy-panky, hurhurhur…"

"Yeah…tequila don't mix too well with meds…" 2D laughed nervously. The hand on his shoulder was fiddling with the material of his shirt and occasionally tracing circles on his flesh. It was quite alarming; the bassist rarely got this touchy without it eventually leading to some kind of violence.

"You know, it's good to see you up here, old pal. We don't talk very much, do we? Oh, what a pity. Hmmm…well, suppose that's my doing really; can't stand to be around you for any great length of time. You really twist with my melon 2D, you know that?" said Murdoc, scowling at him, but still not moving the hand. "Hrrrnf…it's like when you put a phone next to a radio. Messes with the signal something awful."

2D raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh? Why's that?"

The Satanist laughed bitterly, "As if I'd tell you, you stupid ponce! I'd bet you'd love to know what goes on in Murdy-Wurdy's head, wouldn't you?" The man blinked heavily, as if the lights above him suddenly hurt his eyes.

2D winced and shook his head. "No…I was just curious, is all. Never knew I messed with your head." He dreaded the next couple of minutes. Bruises were surely on the horizon.

"Hrn. 'S what I thought, faceache," said Murdoc. And then he leaned forward suddenly and kissed 2D hard on the mouth. He then proceeded to pass out on top of him.

To say that the singer was shocked would be an understatement; he certainly wasn't expecting _that_ to happen again.

**-overload-overload-coming-up-to-the-overload-**

_(Well, that wasn't bigger. It was shorter. :/ But it just felt unnatural to cut it any other way. Next chapter will be up as soon as I can manage it.)_

P.S. Google "Hatchetfish" :D


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